Conversations with Myself
by AzzyJ94
Summary: In an attempt to prevent the apocalypse before it ever began someone has sent Sam, Dean, and Cas back to right their wrongs and, hopefully save the world. So, Sam and Dean face Teen-chesters, Wee-chesters, and Bobby?


Chapter 1: Hello Again

Sam paced agitatedly across the floor of the most recent motel room, and waited impatiently for Cas and Dean to return. Sam knew that Cas was doing the best he could without heaven's help, but things were steadily getting worse. Dean was struggling with how to live as both a hunter and a family man, and was failing miserably.

Sam gave a sigh before flopping back onto the nearest bed, and settled in to wait again. Somehow, he managed to doze off and he woke in the semi-darkness of dusk. Rubbing a hand over his eyes tiredly, Sam looked around searching for the source of what woke him. Glancing to the right, he found a figure standing in the doorway. Before he had time to react, the figure was next to him and placing two fingers gently on Sam's forehead. Sam's world went black

1986

John was in the Impala headed back towards Sioux Falls to Bobby's house. He was driving through the night to get back in time for Dean's 8th birthday. The kid didn't usually get much, but Bobby had insisted on John being back. John sighed wearily. He knew he was missing a lot of important moments in his boys' lives. Hell, Sammy's first word was 'Dean' and he'd said it to Bobby, but John _had_ to catch that damn thing that killed Mary. He had to do it for her, and for his boys.

A few hours later found John pulling up to the old farmhouse outside of town. As he glared at the light on in the second floor bedroom, he felt an odd sense of foreboding building in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew it wasn't good. He grabbed his sawed off, and headed into the house. As he rounded the railing at the top of the stairs, he heard a light mumbling. Cocking the gun, John stalked to the open doorway of his boys' room. There was a silhouetted figure standing between his boys' beds, mumbling, but he couldn't make out the words. The figure was just about the same size as Bobby, and John prayed that it was just his old friend. Not one to take chances however, John aimed the gun and whispered, "Bobby?"

The figure turned revealing Bobby's familiar face, but it wasn't Bobby who answered him. "I'm sorry that you can't come John Winchester, but your boys will be well looked after. It is Dean's job to watch out for Sammy after all." As John pulled the trigger, a great flash of white light filled the room and John's world went black.

1996

Dean Winchester was _officially_ freaking out. Sammy was supposed to have been home hours ago. Five minutes after Sammy's curfew had passed; Dean had chucked it up to the ever growing teenage rebellion that had graced the Winchester household with its presents since Sam's twelfth birthday. Fifteen minutes past curfew, and Dean was agitated. If he couldn't go out on a Friday night because of some stupid pranks there was no way in Hell Sammy was gonna get to, especially since they were on restriction for the same damned pranks.

Thirty minutes in and Dean had started making frantic phone calls to every single one of Sammy's friends. At forty-five minutes Dean had given in and called Bobby who quickly assured the young man that he was headed that way and would be there in a few hours. Then, Dean had climbed into his baby and headed out to search every nook and cranny of Alma Kansas.

After three hours of combing every abandoned building, empty park bench and God-forsaken carport in everything's fine slice of apple pie town, Dean was pissed and terrified. Sam had run off once or twice, but he'd always gotten in contact with Dean within an hour. He didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do. Not a single friend of Sam's that Dean knew of had acknowledged that they may or may not have seen him since school earlier that day.

Just before Dean had a full on panic attack, his cell phone. Picking it up and answered harshly. "Yeah?"

"Dean," came Sammy's voice on the other end of the line. Dean pulled off the road and put it in park. The kid sounded fine. Happy actually, and the pissed off part of Dean took over.

"Where the hell are you?" He growled into the phone.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Dean heard music in the background. If the kid was at some drugged up party, Dean was going to kill him. "I'm…uh out, Dean. I'm out. I'll be back in the morning." Sammy was trying very hard to sound confident, but Dean could hear the shaking in his voice. The kid was nervous. Good, he should be nervous.

"No!" Dean's reply was short sweet and to the point. He could actually hear Sammy gulp on the other end of the line. Oh the kid was in so much trouble. "Tell me where you are, right now, Sam. If I have to come _find_ you I'm gonna kick your sorry ass."

"Look Dean, I'm fine. There's no need for ass kicking _really,_" Sammy replied hastily.

"_Sam_," Dean's reply was short and angry. "_Where_ are you?"

"I'm at Bradley Miller's house. He lives over on…"

"I know where he lives. Get your shit together and be waiting. I'll be there in ten. I've gotta call Bobby, and tell him you weren't killed by some psycho demon." Dean ground out before hanging up the phone. That kid was gonna kill him one of these days. He dialed Bobby's number before pulling back onto 6th. It was going to be a long assed night. Bobby answered on the first ring.

"Did you find him?"

"Yeah, and he's safe, though not for long once I get that kid's ass home."

"What happened?"

"He just decided he was 'going out' thought he'd sit there and tell me that he'd be back in the morning like I'd take that shit. I'm gonna kill him, Bobby. I'm gonna kill 'im."

"Not if I do it first. Where's your Daddy anyways? I didn't think to ask earlier. I'm sure he'll want a piece of him."

Dean paused. How did he tell Bobby that he hadn't laid eyes on his father in nearly six months since he'd dropped Sam and Dean off in the tiny little piss hole for a salt and burn and took off toward God only knew where, or that when he'd talked to the man only two days before the man had yelled at him about not being able to send him any money because Dean was supposed to be taking care of it.

"I'm not exactly sure where he is Bobby, but he doesn't need to know about this."

The way Dean said it, it sounded more like 'Dad doesn't _deserve_ to know about this', so Bobby didn't comment on it. "Fine, boy, just get Sam and meet me two at your place. Still stayin' in that bedroom on 4th?" Bobby asked.

"Yea, I'll see you there." Then he hung up, and pulled into the driveway of a house that was so obviously throwing some kind of party that Dean kicked himself for recognizing the tell-tale signs in the background when he called asking for Sammy. There was no one waiting on the porch, so Dean parked the car and marched to the door.

He didn't bother knocking. Most of the people at this party were either younger than him, or scared of the big scary new guy who was working as a bouncer at the only bar in town. He did get a few looks, but he ignored them as he stormed into the living area of the house.

"Sam!" He bellowed to the room at large. A slight movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he turned to find Sam standing awkwardly in the doorway holding his backpack and blushing beet red.

Dean looked him over once, and motioned for the kid to come with him. He didn't have to look back to know that Sammy had fallen in step behind him. They arrived at the impala in no time and Dean went around to the driver's side.

"Get in." Dean growled. Sam obeyed immediately. It was five minute drive back to the house, and not a word was spoken as they rode, but Dean could literally _feel_ the tension building as Sam silently fumed.

Dean was beyond pissed, and Sammy knew that, but it wasn't like he did anything wrong. He was just having a little fun. Sure he should have called but had assumed that _Dean_ of all people would understand him wanting to have a little fun. The closer they got to the house the angrier Sam got. It wasn't like _Dean_ had never gone to a party before. It wasn't like _Dean_ had never wanted to just hang out with friends. Sam didn't get it. Dean was allowed to do whatever he wanted, but he wasn't. His whole fucking life sucked ass.

Dean was beginning to lose patience with his little brother. The kid was _huffing_ like a friggin' four year old. As they pulled up to the house, he was about to tell the kid to drop the attitude when he noticed a light on in the living room. Scanning the street for Bobby's car and finding none, Dean signaled for Sam to stay quiet, and follow him. He went around back and pulled a couple of guns out of the trunk and motioned for Sammy to follow his lead into the house. Somebody had just picked the wrong house to rob.

Sam awoke sprawled on some old plank floor to the sound of a hammer being pulled back on a shotgun. _Shit_. He cracked open one eye to find a couple of teenagers with sawed off's pointed at him. One looked to be about thirteen, and Sam was pretty sure he could squash the kid with his big toe, but the other one looked to be closer to seventeen, and had muscles like you wouldn't believe. In fact, Sam noticed, the younger one looked pretty muscled up for a kid his age too, and there was something about the self-assuredness with which both boys held the guns that made Sam uneasy. _Shit_.

"Who are you?" The older boy hissed. Clearly he was in charge. Made sense, Dean had always been in charge when they were growing up. He was the oldest after all.

"Sam." He replied. He wasn't entirely sure what prompted him to respond honestly, but it was almost felt like an old habit, answering that voice when asked.

"Why are you here?" The brusque question pulled Sam out of his thoughts.

"Don't know really. 'Just sorta woke up here. Who are you?"

"That's not really any of your damn business, now is it?" The older boy responded again. In fact, Sam hadn't heard the other kid utter a sound. This was just getting weirder and weirder by the minute. "Now get up, and keep your hands where I can see 'em, Sasquatch." Sam had risen but froze before he completely straightened out.

"What did you just call me?"

"Sasquatch, you got a problem with that, Gigantor?"

"Dean?" Sam asked his eyes wide with shock. The kid's brow furrowed slightly but he didn't respond. Shit was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. "Is your name Dean Winchester?" Sam tried again, and again, the boy didn't respond. Sam looked into his green eyes and knew; it was Dean. "Damn it, Castiel." He mumbled under his breath, stupid Dean and his stupid angel buddies always causing problems.

"What was that?" Oops looked like he'd said that last part out loud. Dean was looking at him strangely, like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve or, more likely in Dean's case, Algebra. What the hell do you tell your older brother who happens to be younger than you in that moment that you're the thirteen year old dweeb holding a sawed off to yourself and that you've apparently done another freaking time jump?

Sam stared between Sammy and Dean trying to come up with some kind of plan that wouldn't get him killed, in the past or the present preferably. Before he could formulate any kind of real plan however, Sammy raised the gun a little higher aiming for his head. Things were about to get bad, and fast, so he did the only thing he could think of; he attacked himself.

It wasn't a very effective plan. The moment he lunged for the boy, Dean had the gun aimed at him. Dean had been a great shot at nine, at seventeen, he was deadly so, Sam used his younger self as a sort of shield as he grabbed for the gun. A shot was fired, grazing Sam's arm. He ignored it, but a moment later, another shot could be heard and Sam felt a burning pain in his right forearm. That didn't make any sense. His right side was facing the back wall of the room.

Before he could figure it out, he heard Sammy. The bullet had hit the younger boy's right forearm. Wait, _what_? Sam grabbed the kids arm and watched blood drip down the boy's arm. Then, a puff of thin smoke rose from the throbbing part of his arm and all three watched in amazement as a thin scar barely larger than Sammy's new bullet hole appeared on Sam's arm.

"What _the hell_ are you?" Dean spit as he pulled Sammy away from him. Sam didn't notice that both weapons went with them.

He again found himself blurting out the truth like it wasn't the weirdest thing these kids had ever heard. "I'm him." He said pointing at Sammy.

"Crap," Dean hissed as there was a bright flash of light, and they found themselves surrounded by strangers, or maybe not so strange…

A cold dark voice penetrated the room. "What the hell have you boys done now?"


End file.
